Child...

There can be no shadow of regret with you,
Perfection lent to earth,
Heaven in your smile,
You evoke in me a measure of worth
You are a child

With your hand in mine nothing else matters,
I am complete for a time,
Let the world seek its fortune
I have found mine
In a child


Janet~

My daughter has two friends here for a sleep-over.
Camping, actually.
5:00 p.m.-set up tent
6:00 p.m. supper inside because it was too windy for a camp-fire.
7:00 p.m. blow up air mattress, stock tent with sleeping bags, treats, drinks, teddies, blankets…
7:30 p.m. Oh no! If we want a fire we need to move the tent! The wind is blowing directly toward it!
7:45 p.m. We have moved the tent and it is being reassembled!
8:00 p.m. Wind has died down so ‘mom’ starts the camp-fire…
8:30 p.m. It’s getting dark. Get flashlight.
8:45 p.m. Fire is ready to roast marshmallows!
8:48 p.m. 3 marshmallows roasted aka burnt! and devoured.
8:49 p.m. Discover marshmallow in hair!
8:50 p.m. getting darker!
8:51 p.m. Tummy-aches and big eyes!
8:52 p.m. ‘mom’ suggests that if anyone does not want to sleep in the tent she will flatten the couches downstairs into beds
9:00 p.m. 3 little girls downstairs on couch feeling much better!:) Tent…empty except for the air mattress.
9:30 p.m. ‘mom’ puts in one of her favorite movies and they loved it! Curly Top (Shirley Temple) ‘mom’ becomes one of them for awhile.
It is now 11:30 p.m. little girls are laughing, giggling, and discussing…TEACHERS!
Methinks it is going to be a ‘late breakfast’ morning…for 3 little ‘campers’.

Of Imminent Departure...

Press the curves of your ethereal body
closely to me; there is urgency
trembling beneath the serenity
of imminent departure as we
put on our best brave faces
to preserve moments sealed in our hearts.

Climb over me, align the fire
in your tortured eye with my heartbeat,
Quite suddenly your lips
brimming with passion and desire
suffocates the dreamer’s bliss
in the quiver of imminent departure

I must inhale the scent of you
in our last dance; heady musk
filling my veins; eyes of blue,
Your neck is warm, your breath intoxicating
highlighting the agony of waiting
in the gathering dusk of imminent departure

A ball of crumpled wishes
lodges achingly in my throat
barring all the perfect words
that I would tell, before you go
across the pale blue hill; and so we stand
as I beg you to press closer

Seal your promise of return within my hand,
Not with summer's roses, for shortly
their petals deck the sand; oh, come closer
so I may hear; not the foot-falls of imminent departure
but the landing of your tear
on my cheek, in this farewell hour

Janet~

Rushing to Oblivion

Like impatient waters rushing
oblivious to the delicate fronds
lining the shore
Or like a flock of wild geese rising
suddenly from the neighboring pond
in a muffled whir
the wind herds moments
gently, yet firmly before it
like a scolding mother
gathering her children
for a bedtime story
…an hour together
beneath the deepening sky
before it is gone forever


J~

No Pretty Pink Bow...

You held it too me beneath the pink sky
It was so lovely that it made me cry
I took it gladly; for oh, how could I
Know it was simply
A beautiful good-bye

No pretty ribbon, no neatly tied bow
No hint of parting; how was I to know
As you gave it to me with a tear in your eye
That it was going to be
A beautiful good-bye

I did not see through its beautiful disguise
Beautiful love song; beautiful eyes
Beautiful moment of beautiful sighs
Prelude to the torment
Of beautiful good-byes…

Janet Martin

Nightingale's Tears

The nightingale chorus
Floats on the dark lea
Over the grave
‘neath the weathered pine tree
High on its limb
Like molten light
Its note takes wing
To seer the night
Where no tear has warmed
The cold, hard stone
Just a nightingale’s song
O’er a grave unknown
The moon may weep
The wind may moan
The nightingale's tears
Brush the cold gray stone

Janet~

Of Poetry

Do you read me
with eyes open or half-closed
Do you read me at all
or do you simply see words
strutting across a page
stilted actors on a stage….
like a ripple on the sea
fading into obscurity
Do you feel the heat
The chill
A heart beat
when the night is still
Tell me, how do you
read poetry?

The essence of you
pulses in me
Ah, this is my favorite
Rhythm of poetry
Words ebb and flow
They rise and fall
and yet sometimes
I hardly see words at all
as a mystic force
draws me near
in a fearless embrace
I touch your face…
or else I hear
the thundering rain
pounding, washing over me
with pleasure's pain
Ah, this is poetry

Intangible blend
of desire, repulsion, hope
Friend touching friend
learning to cope
with life’s harsher reality
as smiles and tears flow
Fires rage,
and in its afterglow
we re-trace its geography
not with ink,
but flesh and blood
immersed in bitter-sweet fantasy
Or is it a keener sense of God?
Ah, this is poetry…

…to feel without touch
To weep without tears
To dance in the arms
Of faded years

J~

Poet' Curse

This must be the poet's curse
and I'm not sure which one is worse...
A pen without inspiration...
...or inspiration without a pen

Janet~

I had one of those days today...
...a lot of work! and that's when inspiration hits!!!
when I'm elbow deep in
canning or kids stuff or heavy muddy feet in the garden.., you know? then
I have the most sudden and tantalizing flashes of
inspiration! Do I remember them when my hands or feet are all clean and dry???
Nope:)

I penned this little ditty a few years ago when I
was frustrated by this...curse.

Over the Years...

Over the years I’ve seen the sapling in our yard
Reach for the sky, growing; tall, lean, strong and hard
And the willow which spawned a young girl’s poetry
Crashed to the lawn relinquishing grace and vitality…
...to nothing more than fire-wood

I’ve seen my mother’s chestnut hair turn white as snow
My father’s vibrant stride begin to slow
As wisdom crowns the hoary heads I dearly love
I’ve seen their dreams shift from the now to ports above…
….where heavenly mansions glow

I’ve seen my wee babes; as I first touched them at their birth
And God released a glimpse of heaven to this earth
I’ve seen them begin to realize the tug of conflicting powers
The accountability of freedom; as the bud opens to flower
…..and their eye’s to our true Worth

Over the years I’ve seen that nothing stays the same for very long
The smiles, the tear, are but the half-notes in life’s lilting song
Over the years I’ve held hands just to feel the pain of letting go
And I begin to see the hint of wisdom’s hoary snow
….with-held from the care-free and the young

Over the years I’ve seen the truth in words my father spoke
I’ve seen that youth is but a brief and winsome cloak
Over the years I’ve seen the rising and the setting sun
Painted across the sky by true Love’s changeless One
…..evidence of mankind’s living Hope

Janet Martin

above are some pictures I've taken ...over the years...